My sweet, very VERY energetic little
monster baby girl is 10 months old and walking.
Yes, walking. At 10 months. Not just taking steps here and there, or cruising along furniture. She’s been doing that since right before she turned 8 months.
She is full-on W-A-L-K-I-N-G.
Most babies start becoming bipedal-ly mobile around 12-13 months of age. Just like her months-too-early tooth eruption (her molars just broke through, BTW), she’s determined to
drive me crazy prove her capabilities and intelligence.
Truly, I couldn’t be prouder. I could, however, be more well-rested.
That’s where my hero and baby-daddy, Trav, comes in to save the day!
For Christmas, my sweet hubbsina bought me a Groupon for a 90 minute wellness massage at a local, well rated spa.
- The longest massage I’ve had is an hour, so 90 min might well be like heaven
- No baby for 90 minutes (plus the 30 minutes there and back again – so 2 hours baby-free!)
- Parenthood is HARD ON THE BODY. I’m not exactly young, nor am I small and blessed with flexible, pain-free joints. Especially now that I’m running after a small demon hell-bent on getting into everything she shouldn’t (but CAN because baby-proofing somehow never ends), my poor body is in desperate need of some TLC.
So, even though this was a Christmas gift, I only had my massage last week…3 months later.
Because #lolmotherhood, am I right!?
Anyhoo, I was REALLY looking forward to this 90 minutes of quiet, relaxed, deep muscle tension relieving massage time…
…and instead, I got an hour and a half of discussing my child and the grandchild of my massage therapist…whose daughter is only 19.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?!
Let me back up a moment. It isn’t like she just naturally came about initiating this discussion with me.
I disclosed that I am a lactating mother prior to the massage. I figured that it was probably a legit thing to mention. I didn’t want to get up off the table and have left large, round wet pools of boob-leakage after my 90 minutes of relaxed bliss. Because how embarrassing would that be!?
Welp. That was the beginning and the end of that.
“Hi, I’m a mother of a 10-month old who is lactating and desperately wants to relax!”
“Oh yeah!? I have a 15-month old grandson by my 19 year-old daughter! Let me tell you why teenage girls are the worst.”
I mean, hey. Lady was nice and all. Her grandkid was cute (she showed me pictures – AFTER the massage, at least). But, unfortunately, the massage was just a mediocre background activity to the forced conversation.
(also, it took me a whole week to compose this post – I’m trying!)